


Repast

by leavinghope



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, Homophobia, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Love, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-His Last Vow, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leavinghope/pseuds/leavinghope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where better than a dinner party for new relationships to blossom and old secrets to be revealed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting

John Watson stood before the bedroom mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. He frowned at his exhausted reflection. Extra shifts at the surgery had taken their toll.

Still, the long days were more restful than the flat he shared with his wife and newborn daughter.

John had anticipated the late night feedings and early morning nappy changes. After the loudness of combat, he’d always relished the sound of children, no cry too loud to upset him because of the life it represented. The process of bonding with his daughter was taking longer than he expected, but he dismissed it as the price of the extra shifts he so desperately needed. 

It was not fatherhood that wearied John.

He slipped his feet into his worn brown shoes and sat on the bed to tie the laces. Inertia kept him there for several minutes. John closed his eyes and wished he did not feel so heavy all the time, so burdened. So ungrateful for what he had.  He finally forced himself off the bed and into the sitting room. Mary had cleaned it in preparation for the evening, no sign of baby toys and blankets, almost back to the condition it had been in before their wedding. Before everything.

He heard the noises of Mary working in the kitchen, and he slowly wandered in that direction. 

John stopped and looked at the table in consternation. Eight places were elegantly set. Crystal stemware, gleaming silverware, wedding china. His wife had such a knack for domesticity. Viewing the lovely setting, he could almost forget her knack for domestic terrorism. 

Almost.

John furrowed his brow and called out, “I thought there were only six of us tonight?”

“What?”

He shoved the tails of his dark blue shirt into his trousers and spoke more loudly. “I thought Ted and Stella couldn’t make it. So why are there eight place settings?”

Mary poked her head out of the kitchen and stared at him exasperatedly. “We invited Harry and her new girlfriend, Molly and Greg, and Sherlock.”

“Yeah, but Sherlock would never show up to a dinner party.”

Mary briefly disappeared, then reappeared with a small tasteful floral centerpiece for the table. She placed it and subtly rearranged a few sprigs of lavender amongst the striped carnations. As she stood back to judge her work, she replied, “Well, he is, and he’s even bringing someone with him.”

John fidgeted with his cuffs. “Mrs. Hudson?”

“No.”

“Mycroft?”

Mary laughed. “Not Mycroft.”

Her laughter brought John’s focus fully to his wife for the first time that evening. Mary was glowing with motherhood. She had quit her position as a nurse shortly before her due date. Now her days were spent at home with their little girl, and John returned every night to a happy baby and radiant wife. 

Too bad he didn’t know her name. 

“You okay?” Mary asked as John squeezed his eyes shut.

“Yeah, of course.” John compelled himself to look at her again. Even after a few hours of working in the kitchen, Mary was flawlessly put together in a silk blouse and slim trousers with ballerina flats. John felt as unkempt as his thoughts when Mary drew closer to smooth out John’s collar. 

She picked a piece of lint from his shoulder and smiled. “Sherlock asked if he could bring a date.” Mary winked saucily at John and returned to the kitchen.

John ran his hands through his hair, still damp from the shower, and stared forlornly at the table. A prison cell had never been so beautifully appointed.


	2. Arrivals

Greg and Molly were the first guests to arrive at the Watson flat. When Mary opened the door, they greeted her with a bottle of wine, a stuffed bear and an urgent question.

“Where is Willa?” demanded Molly.

Mary rolled her eyes at Greg. “Guess John and I aren’t important anymore.”  Greg chuckled as Mary gave Molly a quick kiss on her cheek and said, “She’s in the nursery with John. We’ll go and peek in at them.”

Mary accepted the wine bottle and used it to gesture at the coat rack. 

As Greg hung up their coats, he surveyed the flat. It hadn’t changed much in the time since John and Mary’s wedding. This dinner party marked the first time he’d been invited to the Watson’s home since their nuptials. And, of course, during the awkward time of Sherlock’s recovery, John hadn’t been living there. Greg still did not know what to make of that, and Sherlock refused to speak of anything related to his shooting. 

Mary tugged on Molly’s sleeve and said, “I’m going to save the wine for another night. Harry will be here.”

“No problem.  We hope you and John will enjoy it whenever you open it.”

Greg added, “I’m looking forward to meeting Harry. I was surprised she wasn’t at the wedding.”

As Mary stowed the bottle in a cupboard, she replied, “I was surprised, too. John didn’t seem too broken up about it, though.”  

Molly said, “He doesn’t mention her much.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Mary responded tersely. “Kind of a sore subject around here.”

“Message received.” Greg said and glanced at Molly, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line. It was an unusual facial expression for her. When they had decided to attend the party together, Greg had sensed that Molly was hesitant to attend. Then he’d mentioned Sherlock would be in attendance, and she had changed her mind. _Should I be jealous?_ he had asked, a twinge nagging him this early in their new relationship. _No,_ Molly had replied, _but he might need us as backup._

The three walked into the nursery. John and his daughter sat in the rocking chair. He was bouncing the baby on his knees as she fussed softly. “Oh, hello, everyone.”

“Hand her over to Aunt Molly this instant.” Molly gathered the blonde, blue-eyed baby in her arms, exchanging her for the stuffed bear. “Hello, there, little Willa.”

Greg peered at the baby over Molly’s shoulder. “Oi, she’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, she is.” Mary’s pride was clearly heard in her voice.

“She’s quieted down for you. Seems like everyone is better at this than me.” John got up from the rocking chair so Molly could take his place.

Greg stood next to John and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’re doing fine.” He was startled by how thin John had become, feeling the bones so obviously beneath his hand. 

“He just can’t handle being less than perfect.” Mary squeezed John’s arm and said, “I have to go back to the kitchen. The bread is almost ready to come out of the oven.” 

“We’ll join you once she’s down for her nap.” Molly rubbed Willa’s back, and the baby happily gnawed on her long hair.

After Mary left the room, Greg said, “It’s good to see you, John. It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, I know.” John placed the bear on top of a dresser already overflowing with other stuffed animals. Then he began to fold a few rompers that were draped over the rails of Willa’s cot.  John was looking anywhere but directly at Greg, who decided to read the man by reading the room. It was a far cry from the chaos of Baker Street. The nursery was decorated in pastels, pinks and greens and yellows. The classic antique rocker where Molly was cooing at Willa. Handmade curtains with appliqués of cats and dogs. Not a toy out of place and filled with the warm talc scent of a newborn, everything about the room embodied domestic bliss.  

Everything but the man who should have been the happiest person in the room.

Greg finally asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Good, I’m good.” John grabbed a small towel from a cabinet decorated with bunnies. With a grim attempt at a smile, he handed it to Molly, who placed it over her shoulder. She guided Willa’s head there, and the little girl drifted off to sleep as Molly rocked them both.

“How is fatherhood treating you so far?” whispered Molly.

“Good. Willa’s good.”

Greg and Molly looked at each other, worry growing in their eyes.

Greg said, “You know, we miss you at the Yard.”

“And at the morgue, too.”

John grimaced. “Thanks.”

Greg gestured at Willa. “When will you start working with Sherlock again?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” John’s response was brusque.

Reticence about Sherlock, another bad sign. The two men had recovered their friendship so wonderfully after Sherlock’s return, but the shooting seemed to break John more than ever. Greg told himself he shouldn’t be surprised, that it only made sense that John would be damaged by the nearness of losing Sherlock again. However, he couldn’t quite shake the thought that there was more going on here than met the eye, even the eye of an experienced Scotland Yard detective inspector.

Molly spoke over the top of Willa’s downy head. “Sherlock was just telling me the other day how strange it is to not have you around.”

“Well, tonight will be the first time I’ve heard from him in over a month, so you’ll know more than me.” The bitterness John would claim not to feel infected his words. “Sorry.”

Molly and Greg regarded John silently as he worked himself up to ask, “How is Sherlock doing these days?”

“He’s been busy. We’ve had a few murder cases at the Yard and, of course, he and Mycroft are working on the Moriarty case.”

“And how is that going? Is Moriarty actually back from the dead, too?”

Greg and Molly each stared at John in confusion. Molly asked, “You really haven’t heard from Sherlock?”

John nodded his head once. “He met Willa, the night she was born. He’s gone quiet ever since.”

The last time the two men had gone longer than a month without contact, John had found Sherlock in a drug den one morning and shot in the chest that same evening.  Greg knew Sherlock was likely trying to respect his best friend’s new fatherhood status, but he did not know for sure what was holding John back. 

“Have you tried contacting him?” Greg spoke gently, but with an exasperated smile.

John had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I figured he’d let me know if he wanted me around.”

“Oh, John, Sherlock always wants you around,” said Molly, handing the sleeping baby to her father.

John carried Willa to her cot, concentrating on successfully laying her down without waking her. “He’s done without me before. Done just fine.”

Molly simply shook her head in response, and Greg thought _No, you fool_ , _he hasn’t. And neither have you._


	3. Introductions

Mary whisked up a vinaigrette to be tossed with baby greens, while the fresh baked bread hid under a towel to remain warm. A vegetable tagine bubbled on the hob. Mary couldn’t help but smile at the cone-shaped cooking vessel. It was a rare souvenir from her previous life. She’d always enjoyed her time in North Africa. It was a far different existence than the one symbolized by the brightly decorated kitchen where she so skillfully worked. Mary had no regrets about the woman she had been, because she set her on the path to the woman she was now. A woman with the home, the family, and the stable life she had crafted for herself and was determined to keep.

Mary was still in the kitchen when Harry Watson called out as she opened up the front door. “Hello? May we come in?”

John left the nursery at the sound of his sister’s voice and wordlessly accompanied Mary to greet Harry and her guest. 

“So glad you could join us.” Mary produced her most winning smile. She and Harry did not get on any better than John and Harry did. This irritated Mary, who was used to people reacting to her in the way she planned.

John merely said, “Hello, Harry.” 

Mary observed John’s tension as he accepted a hug from his sister, who then gestured to the lovely woman at her side.

“John, Mary, this is Olivia Ikemoto.”

John warily looked at Olivia, displaying the apprehension that always accompanied meeting Harry’s new choice of companion. Mary, however, jumped in with a hug. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Thank you.” Olivia held out a box of chocolates. “You are very kind to invite me to dinner.”

John accepted the candy, but remained silent. _Nothing yet._

Mary waved a hand to where Molly and Greg sat in the adjoining room. “Please, make yourself at home.” She then glared at her husband, who had made no move to follow the couple.

 _Time to give the first nudge_. Mary pulled John into the kitchen and whispered, “You are being so rude this evening.”

“Sorry, just a little on edge.”

“For dinner with friends? Seriously, John, what is wrong with you?”

It was a question Mary often asked herself. _What is wrong with John?_ Mary understood the impact of the unfortunate events involving Sherlock and Magnussen would linger for some time in her marriage. In fact, when John appeared at the Holmes’ cottage to forgive her at Christmas, her happiness was tempered by the fear that it was all part of a plan hatched with Sherlock. His killing of Magnussen later that night erased her concerns.  She knew Sherlock would be gone from her lives after that. But then Moriarty had materialized, and the plane had landed.

Sherlock had returned, but John hadn’t. 

Living with John again in their flat, Mary felt more distanced from him than while they lived apart during Sherlock’s recovery. He had not been present during the worst parts of her pregnancy, but she’d hoped he would be more engaged once the baby was born. Instead, he seemed even more diminished, spending extra time at the surgery and away from her. But he wasn’t replacing her with friends. There were no nights at the pub with Greg, no long lunches with Mike. And obviously, the cases with Sherlock were a part of the past, but fatherhood did not fulfill John’s desire to be needed by someone.

He certainly did not care that Mary needed him.

Mary had worked too hard for this life, this normal life she had craved so much as she approached the end of her previous career. She knew she was clever enough to win John back wholeheartedly. He loved her, after all. She just needed to develop the correct strategy. She had planned this dinner party to introduce stimuli for John to respond to, to help her diagnose if there were any underlying conditions she had not anticipated.

With the baby sleeping in the nursery, the adults sat in the sitting room with drinks and chatted. Well, most of the adults. John sipped at his sparkling water and just listened to the conversation. Mary needed Sherlock to show up to draw a reaction from John. Any reaction would be welcome from this lifeless husk of the man she loved. Mary was worried Sherlock would be a no-show when the doorbell rang.  Everyone looked at John, who eventually said, “Guess I’ll go answer that.”

“I’ll come with you. Can’t wait to meet his date.” Mary jumped up from her chair and winked at Molly and Greg as she walked towards the door.

Sherlock, with a date. Mary guessed that John was expecting another Janine, another Irene Adler. Mary, however, was waiting for John to finally be confronted by the truth.

John took a deep breath and opened the door to see Sherlock with a man. 

_Bingo._

He was well-matched for Sherlock, similar taste in clothes, similar in height, dark skin contrasting with Sherlock’s pale complexion. _Everything that John isn’t_ , Mary noted with not unappreciable relief.

She engulfed Sherlock in a hug. “Good to see you.”

Sherlock stiffly patted Mary on the shoulder. “I’m sure that is an overstatement.”

John turned his back and walked towards the sitting room. 

“We’ll do introductions inside. Everyone else has already arrived.” Mary glanced at Sherlock apologetically, but Sherlock’s eyes were focused on John. 

They entered the sitting room together, and everybody rose to their feet.

“Everyone, this is Victor Trevor, an old friend from uni.” Sherlock indicated Victor with a tilt of his head and with affection in his eyes.

“Hello, all. It’s wonderful to be here.” Victor kissed Mary on the cheek. “You must be Mary. Thank you so much for welcoming a stranger into your home.”

“You have nicer manners than Sherlock. Guess you didn’t learn that at uni.”

Victor laughed. “And you’re the famous John Watson.” He held out his hand.

John grabbed it firmly and gave a curt nod of the head. “Please, let me take your coats.”

Mary watched as John busied himself, enabling him to turn away from the assembled guests, away from Sherlock.

Molly and Greg introduced themselves and then Harry said, “This is my girlfriend, Olivia Ikemoto. She’s an architect.”

As Olivia blushed at Harry’s pride in her, she shook Sherlock’s hand. Victor interjected, “As in Ikemoto and Associates?”

“You’ve heard of us?”

“Oh, yes,” said Victor as he clasped her hand.  “I’ve admired your work on Fenchurch Street, and I was planning to approach you about a future expansion of the offices of Trevor Oceanic.”  He turned to Sherlock and Harry, “You won’t mind if we talk shop, if Olivia is willing?”

“Not at all,” responded Sherlock. He preened under Victor’s attention.

Olivia said, “Did you know that Harry here took the photos of the project that got so much notice in _Architectural Digest_?”

Victor beamed as he shook Harry’s hand. “You’re Harry Watson? John’s sister, right? Oh, this is so exciting.” He shrugged his shoulders in a self-deprecating fashion. “I must admit, I always thought you were a man.”

“I get that a lot,” said Harry, chuckling.

Victor turned to Sherlock and caressed his upper arm. “You know, when we decided to get together for dinner while I was in London, I didn’t know you’d be introducing me to so many luminaries.”

“Oh, you know better than to underestimate me.” Sherlock smiled confidently at Victor.

Feeling enraptured, Mary observed this scene play out. Sherlock was flirting. His posture, his words, his countenance. He was definitely flirting with Victor.  She checked Molly’s expression. Intrigued, slight jealousy. Greg’s face showed curiosity and amusement. Confirmation, yes, this was an actual date. _Excellent._

Victor and Olivia pulled chairs near each other and began to chat. John wandered off to the nursery, ostensibly to check on the baby, more likely just to escape. His actions were disappointing at first glance, but Mary was heartened by the idea that the baby presented a haven for John. _Good girl._

Then Mary heard Sherlock’s deep voice. “Harry.”

“I can’t believe we finally get to meet,” said Harry as she took Sherlock’s outstretched hand.

Sherlock responded, “Likewise.”

This was an unexpected development. “What do you mean?” Mary felt a knot of dread grow in her stomach. “The two of you have never met each other? After all this time?”

“No,” said Harry. She cast a sharp look at Sherlock. “I’m convinced John was hoping we’d never meet.”

_Oh, no. Miscalculation._


	4. Conversations

John observed the gathering. Down at the other end of the table, Harry, Olivia, and Victor were engaged in conversation about architectural trends. At his side, Mary was reveling in her role as host. Molly and Greg were glowing, and Sherlock appeared more comfortable at the crowded dinner table than John would have guessed.  Sherlock kept casting fond and proud looks at Victor, who occasionally patted Sherlock on the arm or nudged their shoulders together.

John compelled himself to eat tasteless bites of the wonderful dinner his wife had prepared.

Victor. John had not anticipated Victor. Sherlock seldom mentioned his time at university. John had met Sebastian Wilkes during _The Blind Banker_ case. From his use of the nickname “Seb”, it was clear Sherlock had made some effort to fit in, but Wilkes had been so callous that John doubted any friendship had occurred with him or any of the rest of the uni crowd. He should be happy that Sherlock had a friend during that time. He should be happy that Sherlock had a friend in his life now.

But John had not anticipated Victor.

The sound of Mary and Molly’s laughter brought his mind back to the present. John had to admit the dinner party was going well. Not having much appetite, he focused on the conversations going on around the table.

“Your photos of the Shard for _Architect’s Journal_ were fantastic.” 

Victor’s compliment caused a rare blush to bloom on Harry’s face. Shrugging in a self-deprecating fashion, she said, “Thanks. It’s amazing how much clearer I see with a sober eye.”

With a sympathetic nod and quick glance at Sherlock, Victor said, “Isn’t that the truth?”

Reaching over to clasp Harry’s free hand, Olivia said to her, “You must photograph Willa.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s beautiful.” Harry seemed excited by the prospect. “I’ll have to bring a better camera next time.”

Victor said, “I hope to peek in on her later, if I may?”

John felt his stomach sink at the prospect of this man in Sherlock’s life showing interest in such familiarity, but Mary responded, “Of course. We’re quite proud of our little princess.”

Olivia asked, “Is Willa a family name?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, on John’s side.” 

“Really?” Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t recall anyone with that name.”

Unwilling to lie in front of his lying wife, John said, “There is also the family you choose.”

Sherlock abruptly dropped his fork, which drew Harry’s attention to the detective. “Everything okay?”

Sherlock nodded, picking up a piece of bread and tearing it into tiny pieces.  John realized that Sherlock only now understood the import of Willa’s name. Hearing the quiet gasp of the woman next to him, John figured Mary finally understood it, too.

Breaking the awkward silence, Olivia gestured to her plate and said, “This is absolutely delicious.”

“Oh, you’re too kind.” Mary waved a hand at Olivia’s praise.

“Your wife is a terrific cook,” added Greg. John managed a curt nod and chased some of the stew around with a piece of bread.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Mary poked a fork towards Greg and Molly.

“Greg finally got up the nerve to ask me out two weeks ago.”

Mary teased. “Finally.” 

“Yeah, well, I was intimidated by her beauty.” Greg raised Molly’s hand to his lips.

Molly giggled, and Sherlock smiled, pleased at this recent development in the lives of his friends. Who could blame him? Greg and Molly deserved happiness. John observed his sister and Olivia. The two women leaned close to each other, like any conservation with them was letting you in on the secret of their love. And Sherlock, well, he seemed content to be part of a couple. As if he finally realized the benefit of being in a relationship. As if he enjoyed having a partner at his side to show the world around him. John once again looked around the table and saw happy couples. And Mary. And him. John was not content to be a part of this couple, saw no benefit in their relationship, experienced no partnership with the stranger next to him.

It’s a bitter realization that the one you need at your side is not the person you married.

“John, I have a medical question for you.”

John forced himself out of his own head. “Fire away.”

Greg asked, “What’s a good med for cat allergies?”

Before John could respond, Mary interjected, “Do you have a cat?” 

“I get the sniffles every time I’m at Molly’s.” The new couple gazed shyly at each other.

“Ah. Come by the surgery, and I’ll write you a prescription for something better than you can buy at Sainsbury’s.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Once Willa is a little older, we’ll get a cat. I think children should have pets, don’t you, love?” Mary caressed the back of John’s right hand where it rested on the table. He struggled to not draw back from her touch in front of their guests.

“John prefers dogs.”

Everyone turned to Sherlock, who had been quiet until this point.

Sherlock directed a stern look at Mary and repeated, “John prefers dogs. He always wanted one as a child, but never had one.”

John was stunned Sherlock remembered that conversation from years ago. The two of them had just completed a case, which included a stakeout almost foiled by a barking dog. Safely at back at Baker Street, sipping tea in front of the fire, John had remarked his parents had never allowed him to have a dog, not wanting the noise to cause problems with the neighbors. Sherlock had surprised him by stating that every child should have a dog, a loyal friend by their side when the rest of the world did not understand them. John had asked _Did you have a dog?_ Sherlock had merely smiled, but in the morning, there was a photo of a young boy with dark curls posing with an Irish Setter next to John’s laptop. It was accompanied by a note. _He taught me the value of a true friend. Angelo’s 8 pm?_

Breaking through his reverie, Mary smiled brightly at John and said, “You never told me you wanted a dog.”

Anger filled John. “I can't imagine we’ve told each other everything about our pasts, can you?”

Silent, Mary stabbed at her salad. Sherlock hid a satisfied smirk by taking a long drink, and, although separated by the length of the table, John felt the person he needed at his side once again.


	5. Invitation

“Are you sober?”

At the sound of Sherlock’s deep voice, Harry looked up from feeding her tiny niece. She smirked at Sherlock from the rocking chair. “You can’t deduce it?”

_Of course_. Sherlock remained in the doorway of the nursery. “You are sober tonight, and it appears like you’ve been sober for months. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t attend your brother’s wedding if you weren’t drinking?”

“You don’t think I could have attended his wedding sober, do you?”

Her answer caught Sherlock off guard. He stared at her in confusion. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“You think being married to that woman makes him happy?”

“It’s what he has always wanted. The wife, the child, the practice…” Sherlock trailed off, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

“See, you have always known that about him, that he was just selling himself on the life he thought he should have. But do you know what he really wants?”

Sherlock gestured around the room, painted in appalling pastel colors John loathed. “This is what John says he wants, and I have learned to respect his wishes.”

Harry adjusted Willa more firmly in the crook of her arm. “Well, to respond in full to your question, I am sober, I’ve been sober for a year. I met Olivia through work, because I did some photography for her firm. Unlike my last few exes, I did not meet Olivia at AA meetings, and she is a naturally inclined teetotaler. Does that set your mind at ease?”

“I’m sure it has set John’s mind at ease.”

“He hasn’t even asked.”

Sherlock noted the regret in her voice. He knew John and Harry were not close, but her present unhappiness about her brother was unusual from what little Sherlock knew of their relationship.  

He decided to pursue the matter. “So, why didn’t you attend the wedding?”

Harry moved Willa to her shoulder and began to pat her back gently. “Did John ever tell you about the day I came out to our parents?”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow at the turn of the conversation. He closed the door behind him as he moved into the room and leaned back against the flowery pink wallpaper and said, “No, but I imagine it was quite fraught.”

Harry stood up from the rocking chair and said, “Your turn to feed Willa, and I’ll tell both of you the story.”

Sherlock only hesitated a moment before he sat in the vacated chair and held out his arms. Even after a month of life, Willa still seemed the tiniest object in the universe. The most precious. She was her father’s daughter, after all. He arranged Willa to his satisfaction and began to feed her with a soft smile on his face.

“Huh.”

“What, did you think me incapable of holding a baby?”

“No, but I did not think it would suit you so well.”

Sherlock liked children, not yet ruined by the idiocy and inanity of adulthood. Babies terrified him, completely unreadable blank slates. He was indeed surprised by how right it felt to cradle Willa in his arms. Perhaps he was used to unreadable Watsons.

“Don’t tell anyone.” Sherlock winked.

Harry winked back and said, “I knew the reaction wasn’t going to be good. We had very traditional, conservative parents, as you might be able to tell from our names.”

_Willa._ A break from tradition. Sherlock gave Willa a soft kiss on the forehead, then focused his attention on Harry.

“It was even worse than I could have imagined, and I had imagined quite a few awful things.”

“I’m sorry.” And he truly meant it.

“How did your parents handle it?”

Sherlock chuckled. “I’m a late bloomer.”

Stunned, Harry asked, “You haven’t told them?”

“I honestly think they’d be thrilled I found someone, anyone, to tolerate me.” Sherlock hoped this truth did not offend the woman in front of him.

Harry laughed. Sherlock decided he just might like Harry Watson.

Still laughing, Harry said, “Wow, what did they think about you and John after the two of you moved in together?”

Sherlock felt a twinge of sadness remembering the many conversations disabusing his mother of any hopes in that direction. “Mother has met the Watsons. She knows better now.”

Harry fidgeted with an unidentifiable anthropomorphic blue plush toy. “Oh, the Watsons. Are they over whatever kept them separated last autumn?”

Sherlock knew his chest wound did not hurt in reality, but the pain burned sharp and deep nonetheless. “John was helping my recovery.”

“Don’t lie to me. He did not live here even while you were in hospital.”

Sherlock spoke through clenched teeth. “You’d have to ask John.”

Harry gave Sherlock an appraising look. “You’re very loyal to him.”

Sherlock straightened in the chair and said proudly, “He is my best friend.”

“Worth jumping off of a building for?”

Sherlock bent his head and inhaled Willa’s comforting baby scent.  Harry had no idea of the things he’d done, of what he’d do. No answer was adequate for the question of what he was willing to do for John Watson.

Clearly understanding no response would be forthcoming, Harry continued her story. “Our parents were strict, but not mean. Do well in school, behave in church, mind our elders. That sort of thing. But I realized pretty early on I would disappoint them. I’d heard their casually homophobic jokes shared with friends, but I knew they meant it, you know? It wouldn’t be a joke if one of their kids turned out gay.”

Sherlock did not know what to say, so he nodded for her to go on.

“You’ve probably guessed I started drinking while very young. You’d be correct. I needed to deaden the pain of lying about who I was, who I wanted to be.” She fixed Sherlock with her gaze. “The life I thought I should lead.”

Harry walked over to the window and drew the curtains closed against the cold coming through. “When I was sixteen, I met a girl. Instantaneous young love. I stopped fighting my sexuality, and I stopped drinking, and my marks started to climb back up. My parents were thrilled, and I decided to tell them why.”  Harry paused.

“John was with me that night.”

The dread Sherlock felt surely must be evident on his face.

“Yeah, he was in the room, at my side for the whole thing.”

_Of course, he was._ “That was good of him.”

Harry snorted and said, “You’d think that of him, wouldn’t you?  You always think the best of John.”

The derision in her tone was unmistakable. His feelings of protectiveness for John overwhelmed Sherlock. Holding the baby close to his chest, Sherlock protested, “Of course, I do. He’s the best person I’ve ever known, and this is just another example. It was good of him to be there to support his older sister.”

“Oh, Sherlock, we were supposed to come out to our parents together.”


	6. Flashback

John’s texts had grown progressively more tetchy as the day had gone on. Sherlock determined that one of his fellow doctors had not shown up to the surgery, and so John was carrying a double-load. Add that to the fact John had not had a date in the few months since he broke up with the boring teacher, and John Watson was not a happy man.

Sherlock hated it when John was not happy.

And that was why there were kettles bubbling in the kitchen of 221B Baker Street, as Sherlock prepared a surprise dinner for his flatmate and friend.

_Friend._

John Watson was Sherlock Holmes’ friend. The word was inadequate to express all John meant to Sherlock. In the year since they had become flatmates, Sherlock had discovered what it meant to have a friend and partner. Someone he could completely trust and rely on. Someone he could not imagine living without.

Sherlock had never been happier than his time with John on Baker Street. He’d enjoyed a few years of happiness with Redbeard as a child, and he remembered spending time in the chemistry labs at uni with the rush of a child on Christmas morning before he tired of his gifts. But his time with John… this was unprecedented and precious. John Watson had taught him the meaning of friendship and happiness.

And Moriarty was coming to take it all away.

Mycroft and Sherlock were tracking Moriarty’s movements as much as possible, but the man was as much a snake as a spider, slipping through their grasps. The brothers were coming to the realization they may have to set a trap to snare their quarry.

Of course, John would want to help.

Of course, Sherlock would have to leave him out of the plan.

Because Sherlock had found someone he could completely trust and rely on.  Because Sherlock had someone he could not imagine living without. Sherlock realized he could no longer remember what it was like to live without John. He began to doubt that he _could_ live without John. 

If that meant he had to die for John, that is what Sherlock would do.

But for tonight, mushroom bourguignon would have to suffice.

Sherlock heard footsteps on the stairs up to the flat and added pasta to boiling water. 

John paused in the doorway to the kitchen.  He smiled quizzically at Sherlock. “What is this?”

“I thought I’d make dinner for us.”

John shrugged off his jacket. “This is a rare treat. To what do I owe this honor?”

“It sounded like you were having a frustrating day.” Sherlock stirred at the mushrooms, pearl onions, peas and carrots bubbling in a rich red wine sauce. “I was hoping that a hearty meal would help you relax.”

After draping his jacket over the back of his chair, John entered the kitchen. He placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, a rare moment of contact instigated by John. “Thank you, Sherlock. This smells fantastic. Anything I can do?”

“Chop some parsley for garnish or pour the rest of the cabernet for us?” The warmth from John’s touch filled Sherlock with contentment.

“I think I can manage both.”

The two men finished dinner preparations, their movements synchronized after a long time working with each other. Sherlock craved moments like this. All his life, he’d never felt like he belonged anywhere. In truth, it had never bothered him much to be an outsider. He’d never dreamed he’d find someone he fit with so seamlessly as he did with John.

When he had to leave, these moments are what Sherlock would miss the most. The domesticity, the strong sense of home he experienced with John.

John broke into his thoughts. “How about I start a fire and we eat in the other room instead of the kitchen?”  John chuckled. “Not that I don’t appreciate the fact you cleared off this table.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Sherlock responded. “My efforts go unappreciated.” He turned from the stove to smile at John. “Sounds perfect.”

Sherlock chose two matching shallow bowls and plated up the food. He meticulously wiped sauce from the edges of the bowls and sprinkled parsley over the top. Once he was satisfied with the presentation, he stepped into the sitting room. The table had been set with two places. John had doled out generous pours of wine. Golden flickering light from the fireplace illuminated the room. Nothing else remained to be done.

“Let’s have dinner.” Sherlock placed their meals on the table. 

John sat down, his body language completely relaxed. “This is exactly what I needed tonight.”

There was an entire wing in Sherlock’s mind palace dedicated to John. One room was decorated with portraits of John bathed in firelight. As he memorized this evening’s John to add to the collection, he knew deep down he’d be visiting this room frequently in the lonely time to come.

“I’m glad.”

As he tucked into his food, John said, “This tastes as amazing as it smells.”

“I’m pleased that you like it.” Sherlock began eating as well, small deliberate bites.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Sherlock remembered the words of The Woman. He knew what she meant when she asked him to have dinner. He knew what it meant to have dinner if one wasn’t hungry.

Sherlock stilled his fork. “Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?”

He was not hungry, actually.

John smiled at Sherlock, an open and affectionate smile. Sherlock caught his breath at the sight of it.

“Thanks again, Sherlock.”

“You’re very welcome, John.” They ate quietly for a few moments, while Sherlock thought of what to say next. He was only beginning to comprehend what he wanted and knew he’d have to exercise caution. Hungering for your straight best friend was certainly ill-advised. Sherlock should have been upset with himself, yet he could not regret that John had shown him he was capable of great depths of emotion. It was something he could never indulge in, though. This comfortable, beautiful, transformative friendship would have to be enough.

Attempting to sound as affectionately dismissive as possible, Sherlock waved a fork at John. “So, I’m looking forward to your overly dramatic tale about your day.”

As John launched into his rant, Sherlock continued to eat, his heart having never felt so full.


	7. Confessions

Molly and Greg sat quietly on the couch. Their hands were intertwined as they enjoyed each other’s presence. Molly had been nervous about attending this dinner party together, unsure of how their friends would react to this change in their relationship.  She knew it was silly to be worried, but neither Molly nor Greg had anticipated how comfortable they would be as a couple. She looked at Greg and grinned, realizing he was thinking the same thing.

The moment was broken as Mary sat down on the table in front of them. “Just wanted to catch up with the two of you for a few minutes.”

“You’re welcome to join us, of course,” said Greg.

Molly struggled to find something safe to say to Mary. Unexplained tensions between Mary, John, and Sherlock the past several months had made Molly uneasy in the other woman’s presence. Finally, she asked. “Are you enjoying being a mother?” 

Mary smiled. “Oh, yes, so much. Willa has been a godsend. This is exactly the life I wanted for myself. I have an amazing man, a beautiful child, a quiet home.” Mary’s voice caught with emotion. “I have everything I ever wanted.”

Molly did not doubt the sincerity of her words.

Greg asked, “How is John adjusting? I haven’t seen much of him recently.”

Mary gave a playful grimace. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to the two of you about. I’m hoping that you will not encourage John to go on cases with Sherlock.”

Greg’s face showed his surprise. “Why not? They obviously enjoy working with each other.”

“And John does seem a little bored,” said Molly, her tone flat. She resented being brought into this situation.

Mary waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he’s just tired from late night feedings. John has always yearned for this sort of domestic life.” She glanced around, making sure she couldn’t be overheard. “The last few months before the wedding, John was more or less humoring Sherlock by going out on cases.”

Greg responded, “I certainly didn’t get that impression.”

“Nor did I,” added Molly, her voice almost shaking with her anger.

“You know, I don’t really talk about my past, but not having a family… Well, this life is a miracle for me. John got his miracle when Sherlock returned. My life with John and Willa is mine.” Mary paused.  “With Moriarty possibly being back in the picture, it is far too dangerous for John to be involved with Sherlock.” Mary smiled confidently at Greg and Molly. “Sherlock agrees with me, by the way.”

Greg nodded as understanding dawned, and Molly said, “That’s why Sherlock hasn’t been in touch with John. The two of you decided to protect him.”

This explained so much for Molly. In the lab recently, Sherlock had been uncharacteristically quiet, his loneliness for John evident in every movement. Yet he denied needing John at his side, saying John’s family must come first in his life. _Oh, Sherlock, you’re John’s family, too._

“And I hope you’ll help me continue with that. Agreed?” Mary nodded to herself and patted their knees. As she stood up, she said, “I have been remiss in talking to my other guests. Please excuse me.”

Mary joined Victor and Olivia on the other side of the room. Both Greg and Molly watched the three chat.  

Greg finally said, “I don’t know if I can tell John to stay away from Sherlock.”

“Sherlock doesn’t trust her anymore,” blurted Molly, no longer able to keep her misgivings inside.

“What?”

Molly lowered her voice. “I honestly don’t know what happened, but I do know Sherlock is not fond of Mary like he used to be. He does not trust her.”

Greg ran his hands over his hair. “Did I ever tell you Sherlock asked me to help him with his best man’s speech?”

Molly smiled. “No. That was you?”

Greg held his hands up in denial. “Oh, that was all Sherlock. He had called me over to Baker Street in a panic to ask my advice.” Greg shook his head at the memory. 

“So, what did you say to him?” Molly moved closer to Greg, their sides now fully in contact.

“I made the mistake of advising him just to be honest about his feelings for John.”

“Why a mistake?”

“Because then he went up there and basically recited a love letter.”

“Oh.” Molly hesitated. She thought back to Sherlock’s beautiful best man’s speech. At the time, she had been bursting with pride that he had done so well. Inwardly kicking herself for not having given it more thought, she now realized just how much Sherlock had revealed with his words. She decided to make a confession of her own. “I tried to stop the wedding.”

Greg jerked in surprise. “I know I had a lot of champagne at the reception, but I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen.”

“You’re not the only one Sherlock asked for advice.” Molly whispered. “He had me help out with the stag night.”

Greg laughed. “I don’t recall bailing you out of that jail cell.”

Molly hunched her shoulders. “I think I got them _into_ the jail cell.”

Greg put an arm around her and gathered her close. “Now this I have to hear.”

“Sherlock asked for my help with an app that would measure their rate of alcohol consumption so they would get pleasantly buzzed but not drunk.”

“You seem to have miscalculated.”

“No, I intentionally got them drunk.”

“Why?”

“The Vitruvian Man.”

Greg appeared confused. “The what man?”

“Vitruvian Man, you know, by Leonardo da Vinci?”

“Is that the guy splayed out in the circle?”

“Yes, based on the proportions of the ideal man.”

“Yeah.” Greg paused. “I’m not getting it.”

“When Sherlock brought over a file on John so I could help with the calculations, he had an image of John’s face superimposed over the Vitruvian Man.”

“John Watson, the ideal man…”

“… For Sherlock Holmes.”

“Is that when you knew Sherlock was…?” Greg indicated Victor with a subtle wave of his hand.

“I’d suspected previously from the way he watched John, but the Vitruvian man made me see rainbows.” 

“And?”

“So I adjusted the calculations to get them closer to drunk than pleasantly buzzed, hoping their inhibitions would drop and one of them would finally say something.”

Greg chuckled. “John spiked their drinks once or twice, too. No wonder they got shitfaced.”

“I wonder what would have happened if Mrs. Hudson hadn’t let the client in?”

Molly leaned against Greg, enjoying his warmth and camaraderie. She looked around the room, noting that Harry and Sherlock had yet to rejoin the party. She wondered what they were talking about.

“John isn’t gay.” Greg made this assertion gently, as if he both believed and doubted the veracity of the words.

“Perhaps that is why it’s so difficult for him to see what’s right in front of him?”

“How much time have those two idiots spent regretting the ‘what could have been’?”

“Too much.”

Greg said, “Makes me even more grateful for Sally.”

“Sally, why?”

“She’s the one who convinced me to stop moping and just ask you out.”

Molly giggled as she imagined how the scene must have played out. “I have always appreciated Sally’s direct approach to problem-solving.”

The fact that Greg had needed a nudge from Sally did not surprise Molly. She knew all too well that sometimes people see most clearly through the lens provided by another. Molly raised Greg’s hand to her lips and gave it a tender kiss. “I’m not disappointed you took some prodding to ask me out. I’m just so glad you finally did.”

Greg kissed her temple and the tip of her nose. He was leaning in for more, when they were interrupted by Victor.  “I’ll take your dessert plates, if you like. I’m going to ask John if he needs help with the cleanup.”

Greg and Molly handed over their plates and thanks, then looked at each other. 

“Want to try to eavesdrop on that conversation?” Greg teased.

Molly swatted at his knee, her anxious gaze drawn towards the kitchen. She hoped John would see himself more clearly through Victor’s lens.


	8. Clearing Up

John had retreated to the kitchen, using the excuse of being a good husband to get away from the crowd. Mary had chosen the warm yellow tones of the kitchen, arguing it would help mimic sunshine during long London winters. John just felt blinded by the glow. But then again, he’d spent a large part of this evening feeling blindsided.

John heard footsteps behind him as Victor entered the kitchen, laden with dinnerware. John accepted the plates and placed them in the sink with a nod and an abrupt thanks. He hoped Victor would take the hint, but the man lingered.

“It was very kind of you to invite me into your home on such short notice.”

“Mary had invited Sherlock. He was free to bring whomever he liked.” John knew he was being rude, and he hated himself for it. Victor had shown himself to be a gracious guest, which John should appreciate as a host. He’d also shown himself to be affectionate and comfortable with Sherlock, which John should appreciate for the rarity in his friend’s life. 

“May I help with the dishes?”

_Leave it to Sherlock to find the perfect man_. John sighed, his tension clear in the set of his shoulders. “Thank you. Of course. I’ll wash, you dry.”

“Sounds good.” Victor leaned against the counter, waiting for some plates to arrive in the drying rack. “I’m glad to have a chance to meet you.  I’d followed Sherlock’s exploits in the media and on your blog, of course. You had some great adventures together.”

John smiled reluctantly. “We have.”

“Some of them were so fantastic I thought they had to be fake.”

_Oh, you have no idea._ “Every word is true except the parts where I had to lie.”

The two men shared polite laughter at John’s joke.

“Anyway, you’re a wonderful blogger. Will you be writing up any more cases?”

John heard the real question behind Victor’s words. _Are you still a big part of Sherlock’s life?_ He wished he knew the answer. “There are a few old ones I should still get around to, and I’m hoping there will be more cases in the future.”

Victor twisted the dish towel in his hands, turning more directly to John. “I’m going to be honest with you. From your blog entries, I always thought the two of you were together.”

John never understood why the assertion of togetherness always cut so deeply. “Why would you think that?”

“Your affection was so obvious, and he even took the time to comment. That’s practically a declaration of love for the Sherlock I remember.”

_Declaration of love, right. Certainly didn’t send me any declarations while he pretended to be dead for two years._ John’s hands stilled over the sink. “We were never a couple. I’m not gay.”

“I know that _now_.” Victor continued drying the dishes. “I read you got married to a woman, so I pinged him over email and promised myself I’d look him up the next time I was in London.”

“First contact since uni?”

“Oh, yeah. You know how intimidating he can be. I had the biggest crush on Sherlock at uni, all aloof and intense and utterly in a league of his own.” Victor smiled at the recollection. ”I asked him out a few times, but he rather made it clear he wasn’t interested in relationships back then.” 

“Not surprised.”

“I took hope from the fact that he rejected me more gently than the others.”

_John, um... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I am flattered by your interest…_

“If you’ve read the papers, you know his last relationship was with a woman.”

“That chick Janine? It was all a lie.”

John turned to Victor. “I saw them together.”

“I’m sure you did. But Sherlock was stringing her along for a case…”

“He was.” John agreed. He’d seen how far Sherlock was willing to go to solve a case. Get engaged. Jump off a building.

“… and she sold her fabrications to the media to at least get money out of the farce. None of those stories were true.”

“Seemed pretty convincing to me.” John could still see Janine: clothed only in Sherlock’s shirt, perched on his lap, kissing him in the doorway of his home. A queasy feeling in his stomach, John closed his eyes against the memories.

Victor noticed his distress. He started to reach out to John, but drew back, seeming to realize the touch of a stranger would not be appreciated. “John, trust me, Sherlock never had sex with her. He said he could barely allow her to kiss him. Not his area, you know?”

_Not my area,_ John remembered. But then there was the Woman and Janine and never, ever a man brought home to Baker Street.

John was embarrassed to have Victor witness his confusion. “I must admit, I suspected at first, but I did not know he was gay.” John held up a hand. “Not that I have a problem with that. It’s all fine with me.”

Victor merely responded with a friendly smile. John observed him as he continued to work. He was meticulous while drying the china, gentle with the crystal stemware. He was obviously from a wealthy background, yet he did not appear incongruous in the bright homey kitchen, even in his impeccably tailored dark suit. Victor was tall, confident, intelligent, elegant, attractive… a perfect match for Sherlock. And John resented him for it.

“But he never brought home a man when we lived together.” _And he surely never looked at me. Not that I would have wanted him to. I’m not that way…_

“That’s interesting.” Victor said. “Don’t you wonder why?”

_No, I really don’t_. John took a deep breath and said, “Look, Sherlock’s my best friend, so please be careful with him. I know he’s a big boy, and it isn’t my place to say anything, but I don’t want Sherlock to get hurt. Ever.”

Victor chuckled under his breath and shook his head in disbelief. Staring shrewdly at John, who felt greatly exposed to his gaze, Victor said, “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”


	9. Reservations

“What?” Disbelief tinged Sherlock’s voice. A roaring filled his head, and he was grateful to be sitting down. He concentrated on not squeezing Willa too hard. 

Harry traced a pink flower on the wallpaper with a fingertip. “I had noticed the way John looked at the other boys on his rugby team. I could tell he was forcing his interactions with girls. When I told him I had a girlfriend, he confided his confusion about his own sexuality to me.” 

Sherlock’s eyes flickered back and forth, processing this new information. _How did I miss this? Why can’t I ever read John?_

“One night after dinner, John and I offered to make tea. We sat around the dining room table, ate our biscuits for fortitude and to delay the discussion. But with John at my side, I had the guts to go on. As the older sibling, of course, I told our parents first. Then our mother cried, and our father repeatedly hit me for lying.” She turned back toward Sherlock and her niece. Sherlock could see the deep melancholy in her face.  “He’d never raised a hand to either one of us before. I think I was in more shock than pain.” She focused on the little girl in Sherlock’s lap. “John remained silent. I hated him.”

In a broken whisper, Sherlock asked, “What happened next?”

Willa made soft burbling noises, and Sherlock raised her to his shoulder.

“I left.” Harry retrieved her niece and said, “Let me take her. Don’t want her to burp up on a shirt that expensive.”

Sherlock remained seated, still feeling wobbly. “You left?”

“Well, more technically, my parents threw me out.” Dancing around the room with the baby in her arms, Harry continued, “I can’t even remember how many weeks went by before I talked to John again. I was so angry.”

“He was just a teenager. You both were.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “As a woman of a certain age now, I know he had it rough. I left him behind with mom and dad, and he felt compelled to be the good child, the one who didn’t disappoint them. Medical school, Army, all Queen and Country. The perfect son. I resented him for years for still having their love, but I think he resented me more for getting out.”

Harry placed Willa in her cot and covered her with a blanket.  As she rubbed her niece’s back, lulling the baby into sleep, she said, “John later told me he had lied about his feelings. That he had told me he was struggling with his sexuality to boost my courage to come out to our parents.”

Sherlock finally found the strength to stand and walked to Harry’s side. “Did you ever think that might be the truth?”

She looked directly into Sherlock’s eyes. “No. I can tell when John is lying. Apparently you can’t, though.”

Sherlock replied sadly. “You know I have lost the right to accuse anyone of being a liar.”

“John has always been attracted to men. There was at least one in the Army.” _Major James Sholto._ Sherlock could still hear his words: _Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think_. Sherlock thought so, two men devoted to John Watson, yet destined not to be at his side. But perhaps Sholto had been more to John than Sherlock had ever imagined.

At Sherlock’s pained expression, Harry laughed. “Oh, I’m not saying John did anything about it. He’s too repressed for that. But I think he liked having the admiration of a man, maybe even encouraged his affection without returning it in full. So, it was not a surprise to me that his attraction to you was evident so early on in his blog.”

“No.” _No, no, no, no._

“Yes, Sherlock.” Harry nodded her head. “And from the way he was completely destroyed by watching you fake your death in front of him…” She stopped briefly, clearly struggling with her lingering anger on her brother’s behalf. “I’ve never seen him love someone like that.”

“I am his best friend. Of course, he was upset.”

“Why are you fighting this so hard, Sherlock?”

“Because it isn’t true!” Sherlock’s raised voice prompted a tiny cry from the sleeping baby. He quickly moved to caress her head, dwarfed by his large hand.  He whispered, “It’s okay, my little love.  I’m not upset with you.”

“So who are you upset with?”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I may not be known for my social graces, but even I understand you may have told me a secret that John chose not to share with me. I must honor his choices and try to forget what you have said.”

“Can you do that? With the way you care about him?”

Sherlock silently turned his attention back to the little girl in the cot.

“I think that’s why he never wanted us to meet. John knew I’d see the way he feels about you.”

“Harry, I...”

“But never in a million years did I think I’d see you look at my brother the way you do.”

Two years away not having to hide his feelings for John. One year of loving him in plain sight, ever the devoted best friend and best man. Sherlock had lost his ability to dissemble when it came to John. 

Harry moved closer to Sherlock. “Why aren’t you fighting for him?”

“I am fighting for him. I’m fighting for his happiness and his security.” _Oh, Harry, the things I’ve done for your brother._

As Harry placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, she said, “But he loves you.”

“John says he is not gay.” Sherlock covered her hand with one of his. “And you and I are both keenly aware that people need to respect others’ expressed sexual identities.”

Harry squeezed his hand and said, “You know, a part of me hopes I’m wrong. Because I do want him to be happy, especially with this little sweetheart in his life.” 

“As do I. His happiness is the most important thing to me.” _It used to be the work. Now it’s John, and I can’t even bring myself to regret that fact_.

“You love him, though?”

Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes as Harry once again rubbed Willa’s back. _Divorced, childless and regrets being estranged from John, her only close family. Committed to Olivia, sobriety, and her niece._ Sherlock felt confident that he was reading Harry correctly, perhaps the only Watson he currently saw with any clarity. He worried the window was transparent in both directions.

Sherlock carefully blanked his expression and responded, “He professes to love Mary and to want this life with her. It is my role to support his wishes.” 

“Sherlock…”

A quick knock interrupted Harry, and then Victor slowly opened the door to the nursery. “There you are.”

Glancing around the brightly decorated room, Victor walked over to stand next to Sherlock by the cot. He looked at the slumbering child. “Oh, she’s a lovely as everyone says she is.”

Sherlock tenderly smiled down at Willa, and Harry said, “You are a good judge.”

“Yes, I am. Speaking of which…” Victor looked at Sherlock with a knowing smirk. “…For a married straight man, John sure seems jealous.”  

Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he could shut out Harry’s laughter.


	10. Decisions

Although Harry had assured John that Willa was sleeping, he had the urge to check on her for himself. He looked down at his sleeping daughter, so tiny and pink and fragile. He gently cupped her cheek, wishing he felt more of a bond, feeling like a failure as a father. 

“Good night, sweetheart.” That’s the sort of thing fathers say, so John said it.

He returned to a sitting room full of chatting adults sipping tea and nibbling biscuits as the evening wound down. As John glanced to the sofa where Victor sat with an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, he hoped both that the evening would come to an end soon and that the guests would linger on so he did not have to be alone with his thoughts and a wife he was not married to.

The sound of Greg’s phone interrupted the various conversations. After a quick glimpse of the screen, he made his excuses. “It’s Sally. Gotta take this.”

Mary indicated Molly with a wave of her teacup. “You let him get called by work while on dates?”

“Let’s face it, if it’s a homicide, I’ll likely be called into work, too,” responded Molly.

John smiled. He knew Molly and Greg were a good match, for many reasons, professional compatibility being a big one. His smile slipped as he remembered he’d assumed that about Mary’s nursing career. He’d never dreamed the woman he fell in love with had more in common with his past as a soldier than his present as a doctor.

Greg reappeared and gave Molly a wink. “Double homicide in Knightsbridge. No obvious leads.” 

Molly ran a hand through her hair, instinctively pulling it away from her face as if preparing to view a corpse. “I should probably head to Bart’s.”

Greg hovered near Sherlock.“I hate to ask you to interrupt your plans, but will you come?”

Sherlock leaned towards Victor, who said, “Oh, please, I texted my driver as soon as Greg’s phone rang. You go on. I’ll head back to the hotel, as I’ve got early morning meetings before heading back to Edinburgh tomorrow.”

Sherlock squeezed Victor’s knee. “Thank you.” 

Greg pressed, “So, you’re coming?”

Impatient, Sherlock replied tersely. “Yes, yes. Text me the address. I will meet you there.”

Greg held a hand out to Molly. “Shall I drop you at Bart’s?”

She clasped his hand and drew herself up. “Yes, thank you.”

John appreciated the gentle affection between the new couple. He remembered that sensation, seemingly a lifetime ago.

Greg pointed at Sherlock with his free hand. “Alright, see you at the scene. You, too, John?”

John was startled by Greg’s question. 

Sherlock’s facial expression would appear blank to most, but John observed a restrainedhunger in his eyes.

“Oh, Harry, we’re here at the start of a new case!” Olivia clasped her hands and grinned mischievously.

Harry raised her teacup towards Sherlock and John and said, “Here’s to the start of something new.”

Victor raised his teacup, too. “Well said.”

Mary started to say something, but Harry interrupted. “Olivia and I will stay to help tidy up. No worries, John.”

“Perhaps we can help with Willa’s bedtime?” Olivia and Harry exchanged a few tender kisses. John realized the two women were on the cusp of an important stepin their relationship. _Good on you, Harry._

Sherlock inhaled deeply and cast a quick look at Mary, who was clearly trying to hide her irritation. 

_Oh, I see. The two of you are making decisions without me again._

John directed his answer to Greg alone. “Sure. I’ll be there.” 

“Excellent.” 

Mary’s frustrated sigh pleased John, who told himself he should probably feel guilty about that.

Molly and Greg retrieved their coats and quickly bid farewell.

Victor’s phone chimed. “My driver is outside. Time for me to go.”

As Sherlock retrieved Victor’s coat, Victor thanked Mary for a wonderful evening. Then he turned to John, who had already risen from the sofa to escort Greg and Molly to the door. Victor reached out to shake John’s hand. “John, it was a pleasure meeting you. I can’t wait to read about this case and many more on the blog.”

As Sherlock returned, Victor said, “Best of luck to both of you, tonight and in the future.”

John watched as Sherlock and Victor exchanged kisses on the cheek. Sherlock said, “Let me see you out. I’ll be right back, John.”

Sherlock helped Victor with his coat and walked him to the door of the flat. It seemed an eternity before John tore his gaze from where Sherlock’s hand rested on the small of Victor’s back. 

“John, let’s get your things from the bedroom, hmm?” Mary smiled at him fondly, but John knew it was an act.

John followed her into their room. As he gathered his coat, gloves, and scarf, he sensed Mary’s scrutiny, as if he was a patient and she was determining a diagnosis. From her grimace, the prognosis was not good.

Wanting to get the confrontation over as soon as possible, John started. “What?”

“You lied to me.”

John stopped in the act of pulling on his gloves and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, that’s something coming from you. What exactly have _I_ lied about?”

Mary advanced towards him and whispered fiercely. “I thought when you chose me, you chose _me_. Not that you didn’t realize you had another choice.”

John reeled from the accusation. In all their time together, Mary had never insinuated that he and Sherlock were more than friends, not even in the depths of his mourning. The list of her betrayals was growing ever longer in his mind.

He raised a hand to stop her approach. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Then he strode away and left her alone.

In the sitting room, Harry and Sherlock were saying their goodbyes. John was surprised when Harry hugged Sherlock, and his eyes widened as Sherlock reciprocated.

“You watch out for my brother. He makes stupid decisions sometimes.”

Sherlock laughed and assured Harry, “I will always watch over him. He’s more tolerable than most of the other idiots.”

“Hey, I'm right here.”

As Sherlock walked to the door, Harry threw her arms around John. “I like him, Johnny. You keep him close.”

In her embrace, John suddenly remembered his younger self who desperately loved and admired his sister. Overwhelmed by a flood of suppressed memories, he said, “Congratulations about Olivia.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Harry gave him one more squeeze, and then let John go, “You’d better not keep him waiting any longer.”

John nodded and proceeded to Sherlock’s side. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

They set forth into the cold London night. As John closed the door behind them, Sherlock said, “I have no idea how you can live here. It’ll take us forever to find a cab.”

“And yet somehow I make it to work every day just fine.”

The two men walked in silence for several minutes. Finally, John ventured, “So, Victor?”

Sherlock shot John a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. “Perhaps.”

“Alright.” John hesitated. “It’s just, all this time, you never brought a man home.”

“Maybe I’m a little lonely.”

“And before?”

“I was never lonely when you were with me.”

Sherlock’s words shook John to the core. Sherlock had been so much more open with his emotions since his return from the dead, yet John was unable to react in kind. His complete devastation over Sherlock’s faked death prevented him from opening up to anyone completely, not even Mary. And Sherlock deserved so much more from John, had proven it time and time again since his return. Sherlock’s admission of loneliness made it easier for John to share a confession of his own. As they reached the main thoroughfare, John halted. 

“I’m not bonding with Willa. When I look at her, I see Mary, and I just don’t feel anything. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Sherlock briefly touched John’s wrist. “I’m sorry, John. I’m sure you’re doing fine, and the bond will come in time.”

John nodded in gratitude.

Sherlock’s eyes crinkled as he said with a wistful tone, “It’s so strange, I look at Willa, and I see your daughter. I can’t help but sense a connection with her.”

John gazed up at his best friend and recognized the look on his face. Sherlock had shown it during his best man’s speech when he congratulated John on his choice of companion in Mary. John was deep into Sherlock’s gunshot recovery before he realized Sherlock considered anyone at John’s side was a better choice than himself. He was so, so wrong.

“I’m such a horrible friend.” John blurted out the words before he realized he was going to say them.

“Of course, you’re not. Why would you say that?”

“All this time, trapped with Mary, I tell myself I could go back to Baker Street and to you. Like you’re some sort of fucking consolation prize. It never occurred to me that you might not have a place for me.”

At Sherlock’s bewildered expression, John clarified, “You know, Victor.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “John, I want you to know, allowing for the possibility of a “Victor”, if it was a choice between you and… it wouldn’t even be…” Sherlock stopped, frustrated at his inability to get the words out.  He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and looked directly at John. “You will always have a home with me, John, always.”

Unable to maintain eye contact, Sherlock turned and waved down a cab. He stepped into the cab first, and John followed.

John followed feeling like he had taken the first step on an escape route, like the cab was a haven.

He sat next to Sherlock quietly. Sherlock was texting steadily, with Lestrade, John assumed. He knew better than to interrupt. Instead John enjoyed being at Sherlock’s side again. He felt stronger and lighter than he had in weeks. Months. Since Sherlock had been shot, actually. John knew he’d never recovered from almost losing Sherlock again and the shock of Mary’s betrayal. If it weren’t for the baby, John would have moved out permanently long ago. He was tempted still to flee to the refuge of Baker Street, but believed he owed Willa at least the chance of growing up with two parents. Deep down, he also worried that Mary’s past was biding its time to reappear at their flat, requiring his presence to protect Willa from the mistakes of her parents.

“This isn’t even a two. I have no idea what Lestrade was thinking.” Sherlock stowed his phone in his pocket.

“Well, he’s not the only consulting detective in the world. Guess he doesn’t know his twos from his sevens.”

Sherlock chuckled and stared out the window. The lights of London illuminated his profile, and John found himself entranced. It had been too long.

Too long since John had been at Sherlock’s side. Too long since he’d felt the way Sherlock made him feel. Too long since he accepted he had yearnings that the life he aspired to would never satisfy. But he’d had enough of such introspection for tonight. Now he decided just to live in the moment.

With appreciable irritation, Sherlock said. “I’ve practically solved the case from here. It should barely take any time at all once we get to the scene.”

John’s stomach churned at the thought of an early end to his time with Sherlock, but was once again amazed at the talents of his friend. Before John express his admiration and disappointment, Sherlock said, “I noticed you did not eat much earlier.”

Slightly confused at this turn of conversation, John said, “I didn’t have much appetite.”

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip, and then he asked, “Dinner?”

John remembered the very first time Sherlock asked that question. And his response. “Starving.”

The two men smiled at each other, and John realized it was true. He was starving. And he knew the time was coming for him to acknowledge the reasons why, but for now it was enough to admit the simple truth. When he was with Sherlock Holmes, John Watson always hungered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouragement. I hope all of you will have a glorious 2015!


End file.
